


Sweetrolls and Spiced Wine

by Myxini, SkyWrite



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Belly Kink, Belly Rubs, Canon-Typical Violence, Eastmarch, F/F, F/M, Families of Choice, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Gen, Inspired by Skyrim, M/M, Mixwater Mill, Queerplatonic Relationships, Romance, Slice of Life, Stomach Ache, Stuffing, Vomiting
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-03
Updated: 2019-08-26
Packaged: 2020-06-03 04:15:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,874
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19456147
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Myxini/pseuds/Myxini, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SkyWrite/pseuds/SkyWrite
Summary: An AU crossover in which the authors' characters live in a fabricated town within the land of Skyrim. The village of Spirit's Cross is a peaceful place nestled comfortably at the fork of the Black and White Rivers, and boasts plentiful fishing grounds, hot springs dubbed the Steamshallows, and a beloved local inn called The Dancing Ghost. Those who live in the village are close-knit as family and share warm evenings, the occasional adventure, and many a belly rub or a comforting hug when needed. ♡





	1. Warm Drinks and Warm Beds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early morning at The Dancing Ghost finds Micah, the town’s local alchemist, in poor shape from a night of worrying about his friend Elijah, who has gone out to sea in a storm. Luckily, Kara and Grayson are there to get him into bed and get him feeling better.

Kara frowned at the tray sitting on the back counter of the bar. In the pale pre-dawn light streaming through the windows of the inn, she could clearly see the telltale circular outlines left in the dusting of powdered sugar. The half dozen pastries she’d prepared the night before, which should have been ready and waiting for the morning patrons, were gone.

A soft snicker came from one of the shadowy tables in the corner. It was one of the town guards, fresh off night duty and warming himself by glowing embers of the hearth. “Let me guess,” he sneered. “Somebody stole your sweetrolls?”

Kara ignored him. The fact was, she knew exactly who the culprit had been.

She marched over to the long table on the far side of the room, where revelers gathered in the evenings to drink and jest and throw coin at the bard to get their song request in first. She didn’t see anyone slumped at the table, but that didn’t mean he wasn’t there.

She cleared her throat. “Micah?”

An answering groan came from the floor. Kara sighed with fond exasperation as she rounded the table and found the local alchemist, looking more like a lump of furs and leather than a man.

“Micah.” She crouched beside him and gently shook his shoulder. “How much did you drink last night, huh?”

Micah blinked, his eyes bloodshot and glassy. “Don’t remember.” He rubbed at his head, looking pained. “Too damn much.” His face scrunched up a little and he squeezed his eyes shut. “Don’t feel so good.”

 _Poor thing_ , Kara thought. For one of the smartest people in Spirit’s Cross, he could be so _silly._

“And I guess you drunkenly got into my baking again, didn’t you?” Kara winced sympathetically at the way he groaned and hiccuped miserably. “Come on, up we go — let’s get you somewhere more comfortable.”

Micah whimpered a little as Kara pulled him to his feet, tugging one of his arms around her shoulders and helping him stagger along. One of his hands rose to clamp to his mouth as his belly gurgled ominously, but he kept it down for the moment and swallowed desperately when she deposited him in the smallest but coziest of the inn’s guest rooms. She and Ryder always rented it out last, so that it was usually available for a friend in need of a place to lie down.

“Sorry ‘bout the sweetrolls.” Micah scrubbed at his suspiciously shiny eyes, hiccuping again, looking very poorly. “I c’n pay for them, ‘course.”

“Don’t you worry about those,” said Kara, handing him a rag so he could wipe the sweat from his face. “I’m more worried about the state of you. Where’s Elijah? Wasn’t he looking after you?”

Micah looked up at her in surprise after he finished mopping his forehead. “El’s gone. Went out to sea last night.” He reminded her. Then the alchemist’s gaze dropped and he looked even more embarrassed. “He walked me home an’ everything. But there was a turn in the air just as I was gettin’ ready to bed down. Storm coming in. I tried t’get to the dock in time to stop him but he was already gone. So I came back here an’ drank some more.” His belly agreed with him pitifully with another low grumble and he braced a hand over it, his expression more than a little green.

“Oh Micah…” She wrapped a wool blanket around his shoulders and, after a moment of consideration, handed him a wooden bucket, just in case. “You know Elijah can take care of himself out there. That boy has more seawater in his veins than he does blood.”

Micah clutched the bucket to his chest, staring down into it blearily. “I fucking wish I knew that. I do, I guess.” He nestled further into the blanket gratefully and leaned back against the wall. “Knowing it s’not the same as believing it, though.” He abruptly raised a closed fist to his mouth and burped, swallowing afterwards. Then he groaned.

Kara felt her expression soften. “I know. I know you worry about him.” She reached out to very gently ruffle his hair. “By the Nine, you look awful. Do you think you’ll be alright if I leave you a moment? I could—”

She broke off as she picked up the sound of the front door creaking on its hinges, followed by the familiar tread of old boots, so squeaky and worn that only one person in Spirit’s Cross could be too stubborn to replace them.

Here was a better idea. She leaned out into the main room, mindful that poor Micah’s head probably wouldn’t appreciate it if she shouted. Sure enough, there was Grayson, bleary-eyed and looking for his morning meal of bread and milk.

“Kara?” He looked askance at her as she beckoned him over. “What’s wrong? Oh.” His brow creased as he caught sight of their poor friend, groaning and hiccuping precariously. “Too much mead again?”

She nodded. “Would you get him a tonic? You know where Ryder keeps them?”

“Mmhmm.” Grayson scurried off to the back rooms, and Kara turned her attention back to Micah.

“Grayson’s getting you a tonic,” she said, climbing onto the bed next to him. Despite her best efforts to be careful, the movement jostled his poor belly enough to prompt an iffy belch, and she wrapped a soothing arm around his shoulders as he swallowed heavily.

“Y’know I just about have another batch ready to bring over here, too.” Micah leaned into Kara’s embrace with a rueful sigh. He provided The Dancing Ghost with healing potions called tonics, specially brewed for settling stomachs and easing headaches, which were common enough complaints at inns.

“That’s good. We’re gonna need it if you keep on being so silly.” She softened her words with a gentle affectionate squeeze.

Micah jolted forward suddenly and coughed over the bucket, moaning softly and reaching up to hold his head. “Don’t think I’ll make it long enough for Grayson to—“ His words cut off with a choked retch. He shuddered when nothing came up, his shoulders trembling under Kara’s arm. “Sorry for the trouble.” He said morosely, his expression just as heavy with shame as with nausea. He seemed to burrow even closer, too comfortable with Kara to worry about looking needy.

Kara planted a kiss on the top of the head. There was no shyness between her and Micah – even though Kara had only moved to Spirit’s Cross four years ago, she had found such kindred spirits in the locals that they felt like family to her. “Don’t you fret. I usually spend my mornings listening to Grayson complain about all of the previous day’s customers.Compared to that, this is no trouble at all.”

Micah gave a strained chuckle. “That’s–” Whatever he was going to say, probably affectionately at Grayson’s expense, was cut off with another queasy belch just before he lost the battle to his roiling insides and buckled at the waist, barely shoving his chin over the edge of the bucket in time to throw up.

“There, there.” Kara put a supportive hand on his back. “Probably for the best you get it all up.”

Micah shuddered and retched again, coughing up the dregs of mead left in his stomach along with the half-digested sweets he’d eaten in a drunken haze just a few hours previous. His fingers were white and trembling where they clutched at the rough edges of the bucket and he groaned in agony, bracing his head against the rim of it when the heaves slowly began to taper off.

A soft cough caught Kara’s attention, and she glanced up to see Grayson standing in the doorway and looking very concerned. She gestured for him to come closer, reaching out one hand for the small bottle he carried.

“Micah?” she said gently. “Do you think you’re done for now?”

Micah spat into the bucket and coughed miserably. “Think so.”

“Alright. Let’s get this tonic in you.” She gently tugged him upright. He was weak and limp from the effort of being sick, and so she let him lean on her, tucking his head against her shoulder. “Grayson, maybe you could get this bucket out of the way and pass over that wooden bowl and the pitcher of water?”

Grayson quietly obliged. Once Micah’s mouth had been rinsed and his forehead sponged off, he moved everything out the way and got up onto the bed to lean comfortingly against Micah’s other side.

Micah relaxed even more, the added warmth of his lifelong friend clearly helping to soothe him. He didn’t move his head from Kara’s shoulder but he tilted his knee against Grayson’s while he sipped at the potion.

“Thanks guys.” Micah mumbled once he’d finished and corked the empty bottle, his shaking hands unresisting when Kara took it from him to set aside. “Sorry for making a mess.” He bit his lip and closed his eyes, turning his cheek further into Kara’s warm shoulder, the tension in his body going slack where Grayson was leaning against his side.

“Don’t you worry one little bit.” She smiled as he yawned into her shoulder. “Maybe we should let you get some proper rest, huh?”

Micah grunted softly in agreement. When Kara reached over to squeeze his clammy fingers, he squeezed back.

With Grayson’s help, Kara gently lowered Micah onto the mattress and nestled him under the warm furs. The poor thing must’ve been exhausted — his breathing fell into the deep rhythm of sleep almost as soon as his head touched the pillow. She and Grayson exchanged smiles, then headed back out into the main room for breakfast.

Kara kept checking on Micah as she went through her morning chores. She always found him sleeping deeply and peacefully, and she saw no harm in letting him rest.

It was late afternoon when the inn’s front door opened again, letting in a gust of damp, chilly air that caused all the torches to sputter in their brackets.

It was too early for any of the regular crowd to come by for their evening meals. Kara glanced up from the tabletop she was wiping, expecting to see some lost traveler seeking shelter from the storm. Instead, the huge fur-bundled shape filling the entryway was wonderfully familiar.

“Elijah?” She dropped her rag and hurried over to greet her friend, who was already politely removing his wet outer-clothes and leaving them by the door. “Back so soon?”

Even through his frost-coated beard, she could see he was smiling at her. “The storm was coming in just as I reached the docks. With the wind already too strong for me to lift the sail, I thought it best to return here.”

“I’m very glad you’re not out on the water in _that.”_ Kara glanced out the window at the gathering storm. “And I know someone who’s going to be even gladder than I am.”

Elijah’s brow creased with concern, understanding immediately who she meant. “I walked Micah back to the shop last night… what is he doing back here?”

“Oh, you know how he is. He gets himself all worked up and overdoes it on sweets and drink. I found him this morning in pretty bad shape. But don’t you worry, Grayson and I have been taking good care of him.”

Elijah’s frown deepened. “I have asked him so many times not to worry the way he does.” The tradesman lifted his head slightly, looking towards the spare room. “How is he feeling?”

“I think he’s still asleep.” Kara nodded at the closed door. “But you should go in anyway. He’d be so delighted to wake up and find you safe.”

“Thank you for taking care of him, Kara.” The look on Elijah’s face was soft and warm as candlelight. He leaned over and gathered Kara in a huge hug, his strong arms squeezing her fondly and his cheek pressing over her curls for a moment. Then he straightened up and turned to go see his friend.

Kara followed him as he headed for the spare room. Elijah eased the door open and she watched him smile in affectionate sympathy as he took in the way Micah was nestled in the bed, hair messy and unkempt but his face deeply peaceful in sleep.

“Micah…” Elijah murmured as he approached the bed, stopping for the water pitcher as he went. He filled a cup and held it in one big hand, sitting down on the edge of the cot and reaching for Micah’s shoulder with the other. “Micah, it’s me.” He rubbed his friend’s back until Micah groggily opened his eyes.

 _“Elijah?”_ Micah croaked, looking disbelieving for a moment, then he began struggling to sit up. Elijah quickly lifted one arm to help him, then Micah was flinging his arms around his friend’s huge shoulders, his fingers clutching at the rough furs. “You bastard, you scared me to death going out in that storm!”

“I am sitting _right here next to you._ ” Elijah protested immediately, tweaking the alchemist’s ear and gently pushing the cup into his hands. “I am not out in any storm.”

“Ughhh, fuck, what day is it…” Micah blinked and looked around, and Elijah began to chuckle.

“Same day. Same silly you.” Elijah bent forward to kiss Micah’s forehead. “I am safe and I am not going out in the storm.”

Micah gulped at the water, then pushed the cup aside and went back to hugging Elijah. He buried his face against his friend’s huge chest and closed his eyes. His eyelashes dampened when he blinked, his youth showing through. “That’s right you’d better fucking have some common sense every now and then…”

Elijah sighed, hugged Micah warmly, and started rubbing his back and neck again. Micah groaned in relief and went slack, and Elijah propped his chin atop his head and mouthed another heartfelt _Thank you_ to Kara, blue eyes twinkling.

Kara winked at him before turning away to leave her friends in peace.

Thunder rolled overhead, causing the rafters to shiver, and the rain that had been gathering all night and all morning finally came lashing down against the window panes. Kara glanced at the fire, thinking about stoking it — but it wasn’t really needed, she decided. The inn already felt warmer knowing everyone was home safe.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Come see us at the-dancing-ghost on tumblr!


	2. High Spirits

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The village of Spirit’s Cross wakes up to an early morning full of excitement. After the commotion dies down, Malia has an interesting proposition and Elijah prepares to make a trip. Of course, Kara’s not letting anyone go anywhere without a good meal in them first.

Dawn’s pale light had scarcely touched the rooftops of Spirit’s Cross when terrible screams rang out across the valley.

Ryder had his boots on before he was fully conscious. He grabbed the woodcutter’s ax he kept underneath his bed, blinking sleep from his eyes as he hastened from his bedroom.

At the foot of the inn’s stairs, he nearly bowled over Kara and Si, who had emerged into the main room in their own states of alarmed confusion. Kara was holding a heavy saucepan from the kitchen and wearing a thunderous expression, while Si was barefoot and looked more asleep than awake.

“Wha’sgonon?” they asked.

“I don’t know.” Ryder strode past them, adding “Stay here,” even though he knew neither would listen.

The screams rang out again as Ryder’s feet touched the hard-packed dirt of the town’s main road. The commotion was coming from the river.

Clearly they weren’t the only ones who’d been alerted. Up the street, Bramley was emerging from his forge with a heavy blacksmith’s hammer in hand. Seconds later, Micah and Elijah came sprinting from the direction of apothecary. Ryder barely glanced at them before breaking into a run, Kara and Si at his heels.

United in panic and purpose, half the town of Spirit’s Cross rushed to the riverside, where they were met by….

 _“Die! Die! Die!”_ Grayson screamed, hopping on one foot in the shallow water and whacking the offending mudcrab as hard as he could with a broken branch. The enormous crustacean looked more annoyed than anything else, and Grayson yelped as it scuttled towards him, claws raised.

“Grayson?” Kara shouted. “You okay down there?”

Grayson whirled around, blinking in surprise at the sight of his friends gathered on the riverbank. “Guys? What are you all—?” He broke off with a short scream as the mudcrab snapped at him.

Immediately, Elijah was by his side, whacking the claw away with the flat of his dagger blade. He wrapped Grayson up in one of his big arms and dragged him back as Kara, who’d moved nearly as fast, brought her pan down on the mudcrab’s shell with a _crack._ It stumbled backwards, right into Bramley and his hammer. The sound of iron meeting chitin echoed off the hills.

“Oh dear,” Ryder sighed, and hefted his ax. Better help put the poor thing out of its misery.

\- - -

Half an hour later, Ryder was sitting at one of the tables in the inn, wiping off his ax blade. Over in the kitchen, Kara was busily scraping the meat out of what remained of the unluckiest mudcrab in Skyrim, while across the room, Elijah held Grayson’s foot in his lap and gently bound it up with a strip of clean cloth.

“Be certain to keep the bandage clean and dry.” Elijah was saying as he finished up, patting Grayson’s knee so as not to disturb the small gash on his ankle from the mudcrab’s strong claw. “Even small injuries can become dangerous if infection is introduced to the wound.”

“With a little of this, it’ll clear up before he can go dragging it through the mud.” Micah laughed fondly, approaching the two of them with a small mug of beer and a healing potion. He poured a little bit of the potion into the drink and gave it a swirl to disguise the taste, then handed the mug to Grayson and capped the bottle. “Drink that, and another dose right before bed. Maybe a third tomorrow morning if the cut hasn’t healed by then, but I kinda doubt you’ll need it.”

“Thanks.” Grayson accepted the mug and took a little sip. “To both of you. It’s sweet of you to patch me up even though it’s just a tiny cut.”

“Of course.” Elijah said warmly, patting some more.

“That’s what we’re here for.” Micah grinned.

“I still can’t believe my yelling woke everyone up...” Grayson rubbed a hand through his hair sheepishly. “I didn’t mean to disturb everyone. I was just taking my morning walk, minding my own business, when that… that _thing_ came out of nowhere!”

“Mudcrabs often burrow into riverbanks with only the top of their shells showing, so they can tend to look like rocks until you are practically on top of them.” Elijah explained. “They’re very common, actually.”

“Really?” Micah cocked his head. “How come we don’t see ‘em around here, then?”

“I suspect that the mud and riverbanks around here are seeped in minerals from the Steamshallows that can irritate mudcrab shells.” Elijah looked over to where Kara was stewing up a big pot of the mudcrab’s meat. “It may have simply wandered here from further downstream. At least it was a small one.”

“ _Small??_ ” Grayson and Micah wore identical expressions of disbelief and Elijah gave a short laugh.

“There are mudcrabs on the banks of Solstheim that are bigger than _me_.” Elijah’s eyes twinkled.

“Now that’s a sight I could die happy never seeing.” Grayson made a face. “Remind me never to go to this… Solus-wherever.”

“Solstheim? Are we talking about Solstheim?” A diminutive figure stepped out of the shadows and into the soft light from the window. “Are you traveling there anytime soon, Elijah?”

Ryder hadn’t noticed Malia come in. She had always had a knack for melting in and out of buildings, noiselessly showing up at just the right point in a conversation. As the scion of the family who owned the town’s successful meadery, she often comported herself with the charisma expected of a young lady of high birth. Around her friends, however, she tended towards a sort of discreetness born not of shyness, but of shrewdness.

“I had not planned on it.” Elijah looked curious. “Is there some reason you might have been hoping I would?”

“My family may ask you to conduct some business for us next time you go there.” Malia came over to the table. At full height, she was still slightly shorter than Elijah was sitting down, but she did not look intimidated at all by his size, nor he by the commanding tone of her voice. The two had been good friends for years, drawn together by their shared sharpness of mind and concern for how the conflicts of the day might shape the future of their little town.

Elijah tilted his head encouragingly. “There is no reason I could not arrange a trip there in the near future. Micah can always use more felsaad tern feathers and emperor parasol moss.” He glanced at Micah for confirmation, and the alchemist nodded. Elijah looked back to Malia. “What would I be able to help you with?”

“You mentioned to me once that you know a mage living on the island? A mage who might be looking for a new situation? The Steamspirit Meadery is seeking to hire someone with alchemical talents. For reasons I can’t discuss openly, I’m afraid.”

Her added comment obviously piqued Elijah’s curiosity even more, but he didn’t press her, simply pointing out, “There are many mages here in Skyrim, individuals who would be easier to contact and bring to Spirit’s Cross. Not that I would not be happy to speak with Elliott about this potential arrangement -- I do believe that he would be eager for an opportunity to leave Raven Rock -- but the trip there and back, not to mention the time he would need to consider, would take at least a couple of weeks. Of course, it would be no trouble on my end, but if this is at all an urgent request, it may be better to seek help elsewhere.”

“If you’re relatively confident you could secure this mage’s services, we feel it would be worth the wait,” said Malia. “For one thing, your friendship with him is a good indication that he’s a trustworthy character. For another, mages who’ve lived in Skyrim all their lives are liable to have debts, unsavory connections, former employers with more gold than scruples… you get my meaning.” She gave a wry smile. “Taken together, these two facts would give us confidence that he wouldn’t take off after a single season to spill our trade secrets across the nine holds.”

Elijah quirked a brow in understanding and nodded. “Wise points to consider. In fact, I suppose it is also true that someone with no connections here in Skyrim would be less likely to be drawn away for domestic matters. Elliott seems absolutely determined to cut his personal ties as soon and as completely as possible.”

“I thought you told _me_ that Elliott’s kind of an ass. You sure he’d want to come work in the middle of a friendly town like this?” Micah laughed as he came over to claim the empty chair next to Elijah, only grinning further at the stern look his friend gave him.

“I believe the term I used was ‘withdrawn.’ Perhaps ‘curt.’” Elijah corrected. “But he has a good heart and I believe him to be trustworthy. You can hardly blame someone for being guarded when they have led a difficult life.”

Micah’s smile went a little crooked and he reached over to squeeze Elijah’s knee, possibly thinking about the resilience of Elijah’s kindness and warmth in the face of _his_ hard life. But instead of mentioning that, he asked, “So when would you plan to sail out there? I was enjoying seeing your damn face here in town for a while, finally.”

Elijah sighed a little guiltily. “I _have_ been ashore for several days…” He looked a little sheepish. “I was planning to leave on a day-long trip tomorrow, just to the docks of Winterhold and back. But it would be fairly straightforward to simply pack more supplies and head for Solstheim instead.”

Micah’s brow pinched a little with slight dismay. “As soon as you get back I’m gonna _sit_ on you and you’re not gonna be allowed to go anywhere for _another_ two weeks, you bastard.”

Elijah reached over to affectionately ruffle Micah’s hair when Grayson spoke up. “So wait -- people actually _live_ on this island with mudcrabs the size of Elijah?”

“They do indeed.” Elijah smirked a little and began ticking off fingers on one hand, “Along with monsters made of ash, fierce goblin creatures that swarm in packs to attack passerby, Spriggans that smolder with heat and can wield fire that--”

The conversation was suddenly interrupted by the door near the foot of the stairs being flung wide open. Everyone started and glanced up from what they were doing as it banged against the wall.

“Could it _be?”_ Si stood framed in the doorway, chest puffed out like a rooster two minutes before the crack of dawn. “Is that _him?_ Grayson Ives himself?”

Grayson, who was still sitting with his bandaged foot in Elijah’s lap, blinked in alarm. “Uh--”

Si swept cheerfully into the room, lute in hand. “I was so moved by the morning’s events that I just _had_ to write a song about your noble deeds! Without further ado--”

Before Ryder could intervene, Si had strummed a lusty chord on their lute and burst into song:

 _On the banks of White River, before dawn’s first light_  
_Our simple shopkeeper did stride_  
_Soon would we know of this warrior’s might  
_ _Which he showed with no swagger or pride_

 _To our fair town did come a beast so appalling_  
_Bristling with armor and claws_  
_Up to our hero, the mudcrab came crawling  
_ _But Grayson -- no, he did not pause_

 _With a shout like a dragon and strength like the sea_  
_Our hero, he launched his attack_  
_He hefted aloft the thick limb of a tree  
_ _And gave that foul mudcrab a whack_

 _So to the Divines, our most grateful prayer_  
_For we lived through the crabbish onslaught_  
_We sing of brave Grayson, the mudcrab slayer  
_ _May his deeds never ever be forgot_

As the last notes of the song faded into echoes among the rafters, the small audience dissolved into chaos. Kara was laughing so hard she was nearly on the floor, clutching her ribs and wheezing for breath. Micah _was_ on the floor, giggling hysterically, wiping tears of laughter from the corners of his eyes. Elijah had kept his composure through sheer iron control, but was leaning onto the armrest of his chair with a hand over his eyes and a telltale quirk in the corner of his mouth. Even Malia looked deeply amused. She patted the red-faced Grayson on the shoulder and said, “Clearly I missed something very exciting this morning.”

With great restraint, Ryder set his ax down before he got to his feet to put a hand on Si’s shoulder.

“Si,” he said, “what have we talked about regarding music before noon?”

The bard flashed their most impish grin. “I know, I know. But as a minstrel, my highest duty is to spread the word of great deeds throughout Skyrim!”

“The only thing you ought to be spreading this early in the day is butter on a loaf of Kara’s bread. Go have your breakfast.” Ryder gave Si a gentle push in the direction of the counter, and the bard smiled at him with genuine fondness before scurrying off.

Ryder turned his attention back to the table, where Elijah was just masking a subdued chuckle as a faint cough before gently lowering Grayson’s foot to rest on the floor with the kind of care most people reserved for serious battle wounds. Despite the levity Si’s song had injected into the room, Ryder thought he could detect a hint of contemplation in Elijah’s demeanor, and a note of satisfaction in Malia’s. Something told him he was going to have some excellent gossip to share with passing travelers in the near future.

Elijah shifted as though to rise to his feet. “If I am going to leave tomorrow, I need to go and pack some more supplies for the trip.”

“Now just you wait a minute!” Before he could move, Kara came bustling over, brandishing a wooden ladle. “You’re not moving a muscle before you promise me that you’ll come back here for dinner.”

Elijah hesitated, as if he weren’t well familiar with the futility of trying to argue with Kara.

“Don’t give me that look. No friend of mine is setting off for that cold dark ocean without a good meal in their belly before they leave. Besides, we both know how much you love crab. I know it’s _mud_ crab, but just think about how tender that meat will be after a few hours of stewing.”

Elijah couldn’t stop a smile, or a little swallow, suggesting his appetite was roused. “I suppose, but--”

“She’s right, you know.” Micah piped up. “You’ll need something good and warm to fortify you for an early morning going out to sea.”

Elijah opened a hand helplessly as he got to his feet. “I was trying to say _yes_ , you two. I only wanted to make certain you know that I will need to spend a few hours preparing, so I may be tied up until sundown.”

“All the better for the stew to simmer. Just make sure you’ll have enough time to eat and get home at a decent hour. You’ll need rest for the morning.”

Elijah agreed with a smile and left to make his preparations for his trip, while the rest of the townsfolk slowly dispersed to the usual jobs of their daily lives. Micah helped Grayson over to the general store before returning to the apothecary and Malia headed back towards the meadery, with a promise to also join the rest of them at supper to see Elijah off. Ryder settled in for a day of paperwork, carefully marking down the inn’s monthly finances on a sheaf of parchment as the soft strains of Si practicing their flute drifted through the wooden walls.

Soon, the entire inn had been permeated by the smell of simmering seafood. Ryder found himself daydreaming about dinner as he worked. Kara always made her seafood stews deliciously rich -- creamy, well-seasoned broth laden with cubes of potato and carrot -- and he had no doubt she’d provide them with several loaves of that soft, crusty bread he loved so much. As the afternoon faded to evening beyond the window panes, he felt his stomach starting to growl.

Clearly he wasn’t the only one getting hungry. The flute abruptly stopped, and a moment later Si poked their head out from their room. “When’s dinner? I’m starved.”

“Soon!” Kara came out of the kitchen carrying a big stack of bowls, which she set down on the longest tabletop. “Elijah said he’d be back at sundown. He should be here any moment now.”

Almost as if he’d heard them, Elijah came through the inn’s front door nearly as soon as Kara had finished speaking, considerately knocking mud off his boots outside before stepping across the threshold. He caught the door before it could swing too far and hit the wall, and closed it behind him, turning to see Kara making her preparations for the meal. His blue eyes smiled as he took off his gloves and walked over. “Can I help?” He moved to grab a rag as though he’d start wiping tables.

Ryder snatched the rag away before he could touch it. “No, you cannot. Go sit down and relax.”

The stern but fond tone of his voice sent Elijah obediently off to find a chair, and Ryder chuckled to himself as he went to set the rag behind the counter. As a child, Elijah had helped him out around the inn in exchange for room and board, and sometimes Ryder had to remind him that the idle tasks were no longer his responsibility.

By the time he returned to the table, Elijah was settled there with a big bowl of stew. Kara was handing a serving to an eager Si, and Ryder accepted the next bowl gratefully. Over the next few minutes, familiar faces continued to trickle in, and soon the room was full of friendly chatter and the sounds of spoons scraping wooden bowls.

In her usual fashion, Kara had made enough food to feed everyone three times over. Ryder set his spoon down after his second bowl, feeling warm and comfortably full of the rich stew. He noted with satisfaction that across the table, Kara was handing Elijah a freshly refilled bowl. The poor boy sometimes held back during communal dinners, too polite to take enough food to satisfy his large frame. Ryder was glad he’d be setting off on his journey well-fed.

It wasn’t long until the conversation died away into sleepy sighs and comments about the lateness of the hour. Kara rose from the table and began to gather up dishes to be taken back to the kitchen for washing.

As usual, Elijah immediately took notice of Kara beginning the chores. He set his empty bowl down and braced a hand against the table, obviously intending to get up to help clean, but had barely shifted in his chair when a deep gurgle curled through his belly. He settled again with a faint huff and looked a little dazed. Ryder glanced at Elijah’s middle and noticed the swollen curve tugging heavily at the front of his clothes.

Elijah had just readjusted his grip for another attempt to get to his feet when Ryder decided he had better intervene. He leaned across the table to touch Elijah’s knuckles, smiling gently when Elijah looked up. “I think you had better just relax.”

Elijah frowned, looking torn between his eagerness to help and what Ryder knew to be loyalty to his advice. “Kara should not have to do all of this by herself.”

“There are plenty of others around who can help Kara if she needs it.”

“That’s right.” Kara appeared by Elijah’s side, back for a second round of dishes. “We’ve got this covered. And besides, I don’t think you’re going anywhere with _that_ tummy.” She reached out to give the obvious bulge a gentle pat.

Elijah’s cheeks immediately flushed a deep pink and he ducked his head bashfully, managing an “Erm…” but not much else as he squirmed under the touch a little. Kara chuckled warmly and slid her hand away, and Elijah looked after her with an air of defeat.

“Perhaps you should go lie down,” Ryder suggested. “You can sleep here for the night. That way you don’t have to walk all the way home, and you can have breakfast before you leave.”

A familiar look of contentment had warmed Elijah’s eyes as it always did when Ryder made it clear he was welcome to stay at his old “home” for one reason or another, followed by a very slight grimace at the mention of breakfast, his stomach rumbling again as if on cue. But he nodded meekly and managed to climb to his feet with only a faint groan.

“Thank you, Ryder.” Elijah’s quiet voice carried over even the noise of the inn, and he gave one last shy, grateful glance over his shoulder before he headed for the guest room.

Kara watched him go, and then caught Ryder’s eye. “That boy just can’t help himself around seafood, can he?” she chuckled.

Ryder shook his head, smiling. Something had always drawn Elijah to the water. That was one reason why Ryder never worried about him when he set out on these long journeys in his boat. Someone with so much salt in their blood would not meet their end in the sea.

The table was starting to clear out. Grayson and Bramley had gotten up to help with the dishes. Malia was pouring out small goblets of Steamspirit mead for everyone to enjoy after chores, while Si had gotten out their flute and begun playing a gentle evening tune. Only Micah hadn’t moved. He was still in his chair, shoulders sagging just slightly as he looked longingly in the direction that Elijah had gone.

Ryder was going to say something, but Kara beat him to it. “Go on, Micah. Go enjoy your behemoth’s company before he leaves on his trip. From the looks of him, he might need your help getting to sleep, anyways.” She was fighting a knowing grin.

Micah perked up with obvious relief, wasting no time in scrambling up and heading for the guest room. He reached a hand for the door after thanking Kara for the nudge, and Ryder felt a flicker of pride as he watched Kara pat him on the shoulder and tell him not to worry. When the day came that he was old and frail no longer able to run The Dancing Ghost, he would leave the inn in her hands with the utmost confidence that she’d continue running it right.

\- - -

Micah turned the knob slowly, hoping to avoid waking Elijah if he was already asleep, but his best friend looked over at the faint sound of creaky hinges and Micah smiled, slipping into the dark room and closing the door. He came close to the bed and pulled off his boots, then climbed up next to Elijah carefully to avoid jostling him. A low gurgle and a slight groan told him he may not have been entirely successful.

“You’re so dumb.” Micah laughed gently, placing a hand on either side of Elijah’s swollen stomach. He pressed in a little with his fingertips and smirked when he got another groan in return. “Four bowls of stew is a _lot_ , you know, even for you.”

“Was _really_ good.” Elijah protested sleepily, his brow pinching as Micah began to work his hands over his friend’s belly in deep, circular motions. The rub pushed up a rumbling belch that Elijah barely managed to cover in time, and Micah patted under his best friend’s ribs, a twinge of concern dampening his humor. 

“You didn’t stuff yourself _too_ much, did you?” Micah nudged away the arm Elijah had held out in hopes of getting a cuddle. “Should I get you a tonic? Maybe a bit of ale?”

“I’m alright.” Elijah insisted, stretching out a little further and reaching for Micah again. Micah let himself be folded into the embrace, cuddling against Elijah’s side and keeping one hand pressed to his best friend’s belly. When he was settled he began to smooth broad circles over the swell again, and Elijah was soon humming with pleasure and contentment.

“You’ll be careful out on the sea, ‘course.” Micah mumbled grumpily into Elijah’s shoulder, and felt a big hand ruffle his curls.

“Of course I will. You don’t have to worry about me, Micah.” Elijah promised him, reaching over to undo the clasp of Micah’s shawl from around his shoulders. He draped the garment over the nearest bed post and pulled one of the bed’s thick furs over the both of them.

Comfortable and warm, Micah sighed and sank further against Elijah’s chest. His best friend smelled of seafood and woodsmoke, a touch of frost and pine and river water from his preparations for his trip. The arm he’d curled around Micah tightened briefly as he drew him closer to press a kiss to his forehead, and Micah closed his eyes. He and Elijah had known each other for years, ever since the day Elijah had first wandered into the village of Spirit’s Cross as a young teenager, and though Micah had seen him sail out to sea dozens of times before, he felt all too aware how devastating it would be if Elijah ever failed to come home. Sometimes Micah worried. He couldn’t help it.

Elijah was falling asleep next to him, then he hiccuped suddenly and muttered something faintly rueful under his breath, quickly quieting once more when Micah rubbed over his stomach again to soothe him. The alchemist smirked to himself and stifled a chuckle. Elijah was a bedrock of strength beneath a river of gentleness; he was loyal, and a hard worker, and a man of song, but he had his moments. His _very silly_ moments.

Very silly moments that often melted Micah’s heart and gave him a chance to take care of his usually unshakable best friend. So he hugged Elijah a little closer with another pat to his friend’s belly, smiled mistily at the soft sound of deep happiness he got in return, and soon drifted off, as the light from the moons outside danced on the waters of the Steamshallows.


	3. (El)sewhere

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elijah is building bridges and Elliott is faced with big decisions. The two share memories, quiet moments of comfort and strength, and a bit more good food than Elliott was expecting after already having eaten dinner. Their voyage back home begins to open new doors.

Elijah woke slowly, blinking in the dimness of early morning and struggling to stifle a yawn, but it rose to his lips as he raised a hand to cover it. Micah shifted next to him under the furs wrapped around them both, mumbled something, and burrowed closer. Elijah couldn’t stop a big, affectionate smile, and he gently poked his best friend awake until the alchemist was squinting at him a bit grumpily.

“I need to get an early start if I am going to leave for Solstheim today.” Elijah whispered, patting his friend’s back. “I thought you would want me to let you know I was getting up.”

“Ughh… yeah. Yeah, glad you didn’t just up’n leave.” Micah wrapped an arm around him and gave him a big hug, and Elijah squeezed him back warmly. “Be careful out there, El. Y’big bastard.”

“I will.” Elijah ruffled Micah’s curls and slowly extricated himself. “Promise. I will see you in a couple of weeks.” He bent down to press a parting kiss to Micah’s fluffy head, then tucked his best friend in more snugly, gathered his cloak and boots, and carefully eased out of the room, closing the door behind himself.

At this hour, the only ones in town likely to be up were Kara, Ryder, and Grayson. Elijah could hear the sounds of Kara in the inn’s kitchen as he paused in the hallway to pull on his boots, and knew Ryder would be sitting across the counter from her, having breakfast. Grayson would come by the inn later, probably after Elijah was already rowing downstream, but most other folk were still sound asleep.

Elijah smiled fondly as he wandered down the familiar hallway, treading over the faded footsteps of his younger self, who would so timidly creep up to the counter in the early mornings of that first summer spent in Spirit’s Cross, eager to start work so that he could prove to himself -- and maybe to Ryder too -- that he was  _ worth _ keeping around. He was always torn between that and the delicious smells wafting through the air -- he needn’t have worried; Ryder  _ never _ wanted any chores done before breakfast. His mentor would always “scold” him into a chair with a smile.

That same warm smile appeared on Ryder’s face as Elijah came into view. “Good morning,” he said, looking up from his customary morning mug of tea. “Getting an early start?”

Elijah nodded, smiling in greeting as he moved further into the room. “Mhm. I would like to reach open sea before the sky grows dark--” He remembered his manners a little belatedly and dipped his head a bit. “Good morning.”

“Is that Elijah I hear?” Kara’s head popped out from the kitchen. “Make sure to stop and have breakfast before you leave! That is, if your tummy isn’t still full from all that stew.”

Elijah blushed and rubbed the back of his neck, looking anywhere but Kara’s grin. “Well, it  _ has _ been a whole night.” He tried to joke along with her, cheeks flaming.

Kara laughed heartily. “I’ll make you up a plate,” she said, and vanished into the kitchen with a wink.

Elijah settled into the chair next to Ryder and accepted a mug of milk that Kara passed to him, along with two thick slices of toasted bread and a small dish of thinly sliced apples. He began eating methodically, but it was impossible not to appreciate the soft bread and fresh fruit. The milk had been chilled overnight but was probably brought from Bramley’s family farm just the day before; Elijah could taste the cream that had floated to the top.

Kara came out to join them a minute later. “No Micah yet?” she asked. “I guess he’s still sleeping?”

Elijah hummed in amusement and nodded. “I woke him up long enough to tell him goodbye, but he was sound asleep again before I even made it out of the room.”

She smiled. “He misses you a lot when you’re gone. But don’t worry, we all give him lots of extra love. How long will it be this time?”

Elijah washed down his last bite of bread with what was left in his mug and stood. “Two weeks at the most, depending on the weather. I may be back sooner if Elliott makes a decision quickly.”

Ryder stood up to embrace him. “Be safe,” he said, patting as high up on Elijah’s back as he could reach. Elijah leaned down into the hug, tightening his arms warmly around the man who’d raised him like a father. “I will, I promise.”

“And take this with you!” Kara thrust a fabric-wrapped bundle into Elijah’s hands. “You said your friend likes sweets, right? Bribe him to come join us.”

Elijah chuckled as he peeked under the fabric to see a pair of snowberry pies. “Thank you, Kara. I am certain he will be convinced.” He tucked the bundle under his arm, gave them both a final warm nod in farewell, and headed for the front door of the inn.

Elijah reached his rowboat just as the sun’s rays were beginning to peek over the far horizon. He’d already placed most of his supplies carefully in the center of the small craft, tied down with ropes and covered with blankets; now he settled the bundle of Kara’s baking where it would stay dry, and grabbed his oars. He shoved off from the shore outside of town as the first wisps of smoke began to rise from the chimneys of houses and stores, and smiled to himself as he tugged the corner of his scarf over his mouth and nose.

The trip downriver was only a couple of hours at most -- coming upstream was more difficult as he had to work against the current -- and as the wind grew chiller and soft bits of snow began to dance on the sharp breeze, Elijah found his thoughts turning to the trip ahead and how Elliott might react to the news he was bringing.

He had hopes it would be  _ good _ news to the mage, but neither was he certain his friend wouldn’t feel conflicted over making a decision to leave so abruptly. Elliott’s life on Solstheim was an unhappy one. The sky was nearly always blackened with ash and soot from the Red Mountain and the mage’s family was a supremely unpleasant lot; controlling, conniving, and lacking in love. But still -- it wouldn’t be unreasonable for someone to hesitate to leave everything they’d known for the past few years. 

Elijah was tying his rowboat to the dock he built himself at the mouth of the White River before midday, and transferred his food, water, blankets, and various other supplies to his small seafaring craft. He’d found the boat runaground almost three years previous, and he’d worked for months, saving up coin to buy supplies to repair it and bartering with sailors for training on how to maneuver it. It was the perfect size for handling if you only had one pair of hands, yet still boasted a very small shelter in the center where he made his bed and slept on the nights he was anchored close to shore. If Elliott agreed to come back with him, Elijah planned to tuck him soundly there with plenty of blankets and a canteen of water. It would keep the mage warm and hopefully undistressed as they made the trip back across the rough sea, as well as keep Elijah from having to worry about moving around him to guide the sail.

With the boat well-supplied and the cold sunlight filtering down through the clouds and glinting off the snow piled high on the banks, Elijah drew up the anchor, unfurled the mainsail, and turned into the pull of the tide with the sun to starboard. Solstheim was a few day’s voyage across open sea, but if the weather stayed calm, he should make good time. He smiled softly to himself as he turned the tiller. He hoped Elliott was doing alright…

\- - -

_ Elijah heard a pair of footsteps approaching at a halting pace, as if someone were gingerly picking their way through the tussocks of grass and the muddy places hidden between them. The brush of a long robe against a nearby tangle of trama root confirmed his suspicions and he smiled, propping his fishing pole against his knee and turning to look up at the mage approaching behind him. Elliott’s dark eyes were squinted in displeasure under his curls and he wore a scowl. _

_ “Hello.” Elijah offered, amused. “I don’t often see you come this far from town.” _

_ “I saw your boat.” Elliott pointed at the craft almost accusingly. “I thought I’d have heard from you by now.” _

_ “I only just reached shore a couple of hours ago.” Elijah explained gently, giving his fishing line a tug. He knew Elliott was lonely and looked forward to any excuse he could get to escape the town of Raven Rock even for a short while, but he had assumed the mage would be busy this early in the day. “I was going to let you know as soon as I finished up here.” He gestured to the basket of fish by his feet. “A falling tide early in the morning is the best time to fish and I did not want to miss out. Would you like to come sit? Or would you rather head back to the cabin? I’ll come up there in a short while to clean these.” _

_ Elliott sighed, looking over his shoulder in the direction of Elijah’s cozy wooden cabin, and back to the bank where Elijah was sitting, undecided. He crossed his arms. “It’s fucking  _ wet _.” _

_ “Hmm.” Elijah stuck his pole in the ground and leaned over to where he’d stacked his travel supplies, digging through a pack until he pulled out a thick pelt. He spread it on the ground beside him, folding the grass down underneath it to discourage unpleasant lumps, and held out an inviting hand. Elliott sighed again as if quite put-upon but willingly came over, plunking down beside him and only grumbling under his breath once when Elijah tucked an arm around him and held him warmly against his side. _

_ “Is everything alright?” Elijah asked after a few moments of not-uncomfortable silence. He hoped Elliott hadn’t come hunting him down at the first sign of his boat because he was unbearably stressed or because anything particularly upsetting had happened. _

_ “Things could be less tolerable. My mother has been working on some new project which has kept her mercifully busy. It’s been raining ash for about a week, which has been miserable.” _

_ Elijah was digging in the nearest bag as he listened, and his fingers closed over the apple tarts he’d been searching for. He pulled them out and handed two to Elliott, who perked up considerably and began to demolish them as if he were starving. Elijah couldn’t stop a chuckle, but couldn’t blame his friend either -- Kara’s apple tarts were always so deliciously browned, with those sweet, crisp bits of fruit tucked inside, softened in the gooey jam. And Elliott didn’t see too many sweets on Solstheim… mostly ash yams and horker meat.  _

_ Elijah bit into one of his own tarts and decided to pass the fourth to Elliott instead, since the mage was already empty-handed. A yank on the fishing line commanded his attention, and he wrestled with the fish he’d hooked for a moment or two before pulling it onto the shore, silver and flopping about, and Elliott made a face and shrank away from it. Elijah couldn’t help a short laugh. _

_ “Alright, we can head up to the cabin now, if you are ready.” The words hadn’t even completely left Elijah’s lips before Elliott was on his feet and stalking impatiently back the way he’d come. He paused to watch Elijah gather his two packs and the basket of fish, his earlier scowl a bit less pronounced. “How long are you staying this time?” _

_ Elijah began trekking up the bank, coming to Elliott’s side to walk with him. “A little less than a week. I have some goods to trade at the marketplace here and I will also be foraging and fishing.” He lifted a hand to give the mage’s back a friendly pat. “It’s good to see you, Elliott.” _

_ Elliott snorted and a subtle smirk touched the corner of his mouth. “You too.” _

\- - - 

Elijah reached the cove where he usually anchored his boat by late afternoon on the fourth day. He was tired from the trip but he wanted to get settled in the cabin for the night and maybe invite Elliott to stay as well if it wasn’t too short of notice. So he sealed his barrels of food and water, slung his packs over his shoulders, and began the long walk uphill to where the cabin was nestled at the foot of the looming mountains. 

It had been an old, dilapidated shack when he’d first started coming to Solstheim for regular gathering visits. But he was used to finding old things and places that others had forgotten or left behind, so he rolled up his sleeves and spent some time, hewing saplings for strips of wood and bark and moss to shore up the cracks, trading goods in Raven Rock for the funds for clay and lumber, and making rounds back and forth to build it up into a livable dwelling. It had been “robbed” more than once when he was away, but he never left anything of real value in the cabin and so eventually the Reavers appeared to have given up. He always checked the lock to see if it needed repairs, but hadn’t seen it damaged recently.

There was a warm hearth and chimney that he’d spent three days lovingly placing the stones for, two comfortable, fur-lined beds (he’d built the second one after he’d met Elliott for the first time), and a round table with chairs set with wood-carved cups and bowls. Firewood was stacked in one corner of the room and there were some chests along the back wall, packed with blankets and a few changes of clothes. A small bookshelf between the two beds held a few books for light reading and provided a place to set a candle.

Elijah got to work building a fire before briefly ducking back outside to fill two flagons he’d brought with him with fresh, clean snow. He came back inside to set them on the warm hearthstones so he’d have one for drinking water and one to freshen up after the long journey. He changed clothes and spread his damp ones over a spare chair to dry and began setting out the food he’d brought, pausing to pour water into a wooden basin so he could wash the grit from his beard and the salt from his hair. 

One of Kara’s two snowberry pies he arranged in the center of the table, before setting out a plate of fish he’d smoked for preservation along with two cups of fresh water. He’d brought Steamspirit mead with him too, and considered pouring cups of that, but ended up just setting the bottle out. He wasn’t even certain Elliott would be able to meet him tonight, in which case he wouldn’t see his friend until morning. He had half a small sack of green apples and he added a few to the table, pocketing one and turning to use a small iron shovel to scoop up a coal from the fire.

Extremely carefully so that he wouldn’t drop burning embers onto the wooden floor, Elijah crept to the door and stepped out onto the little attached porch in the darkening twilight. He used some green wood scraps and the hot coal to start a small signal fire that sent a thin wisp of dark smoke curling up into the sky. He sat back and let it smolder, digging the apple from his pocket and taking a bite. Raven Rock wasn’t that far away, and he knew exactly which hill to watch for a lone mage approaching on foot.

\- - -

_ It was early spring, though one would never know it from the perpetually-brown grasses rooted in the volcanic soil of Solstheim. The sky overhead was dim as always and growing dimmer in the evening descending over the peaks of the mountains. Elijah was knee-deep in the surf, pulling up traps he’d set for crabs and slaughterfish. He’d preserve the meat for food and harvest scales, eggs, and chitin for alchemical ingredients. A successful hunting and foraging trip the day before meant he was taking a few wolf pelts, clay bowls of spawn ash, and a pocketful of felsaad tern feathers back with him as well.  _

_ He’d just pulled up his last trap when a thundering shook the air and a wave of magical power billowed across the nearby hills and rocks. Elijah cried out in strangled fear as it reached him and he stumbled, fell, hitting his knees on the muddy bank and shaking, shaking. As he gasped for breath and took stock of himself, realizing with relief that he was unhurt and the magic had dissipated just as quickly as it had come, he snatched at the reeds and pulled himself onto drier soil, trembling too severely at the moment to stand. What could have possibly-- _

_ When he managed to get to his feet he found himself heading in the direction the magic seemed to have come from, slowly, haltingly at first, then he broke into a run. Who would cast such a spell? Were they fending off a wild animal? A horde of Rieklings?  _

_ Elijah crested the hill and stopped at the sight before him, his breath catching in his throat. Below, the ground was blackened in a spiral radiating outwards. A spell table sat off to one side and pieces of shattered soul gems littered the ground nearby. Stone monoliths ringed the clearing and pulsed with still-fading light, and in the center of the mess, a man lay on the ground.  _

_ Hesitating only a moment, glancing at the flickers of magic dwindling from the surrounding stones, Elijah rushed down the hillside and crouched next to the mage, reaching for his shoulder and turning him over frantically. He noted the strong smell of alcohol at the same time he registered the young man’s chest rising and falling, and, as delicately as he possibly could, searched him for injuries. He found no open wounds and hoped the mage was only suffering from some sort of magical exhaustion and would wake soon. _

_ “Sir?” Elijah tried, shaking the young man’s shoulder gently, but he got no response. The mage’s angular face was ashen with dark circles under his eyes. He was clean shaven and his hair was dark and curly, slightly disheveled from whatever mishap had unfolded. Elijah sat back on his heels and tried to decide what to do. _

_ He supposed he could hurry to Raven Rock on foot to alert some of the town’s guards that there had been an accident, but he shook the thought away a moment later. By the time he got there and back, someone -- or something -- else could find the man and hurt or rob him. Best to stay close until he woke. _

_ But neither did he think it wise to simply stay crouched on the ground in the open, not to mention at the epicenter of a spell gone wrong. Maybe there were potential negative magical aftereffects he didn’t know about, or possibly someone else had noticed the blast and was on their way to the same place. If anyone hostile approached, Elijah wasn’t sure if he could defend an unconcious, unmoving person and himself at the same time. _

_ In the end, Elijah bent down and wound his arms underneath the young man, tightening one arm under the crook of his knees and gently hefting him up to lay across his shoulders. The mage made a low, distressed sound, but didn’t rouse, and Elijah reached up to grip his shoulder. “It’s alright.” He murmured unthinkingly, even knowing he wouldn’t be heard. “You’ll be alright.” _

_ The walk back to the cabin wasn’t far, but it was steep and difficult, especially carrying an injured person. Elijah picked his way carefully over loose stones and found strategic footholds against tufts of grass, but was still out of breath once he reached the front door. He unlocked it and pushed it open with his foot, bending low to get them both through without hitting either of their heads, then straightened back up and walked the length of the room to the bed at the far side of the dwelling. With careful hands, he lowered the mage from his back to the soft furs, reaching over to adjust his head comfortably. He hadn’t stirred once since they’d left the clearing. _

_ Now what? Elijah went to retrieve a blanket to keep his hands busy, his mind running over all the things one was supposed to do with someone in an unknown state of health. Water, he’d need water. A few clean cloths probably couldn’t hurt, and perhaps an empty basin if the strong smell of alcohol was anything to go by. A mug of hot tea might be welcome too, in that case. He did have a few small vials of healing potion in case of emergency; if it turned out the mage was badly hurt in some way he couldn’t see, he’d at least be prepared. _

_ Elijah had been gathering supplies and comfort items for the better part of an hour when he heard the first rustlings from the bed, and lifted his gaze from where he was pouring fresh water into a cup. His unexpected guest was struggling into a dubious sitting position, his dark gaze darting frantically around the room before landing on Elijah. His brow drew in a furious scowl, and Elijah quickly got to his feet. _

_ “It’s alright, I--” _

_ “Who the fuck are  _ **_you?_ ** _ ” _

_ The words were snarled viciously in his direction and Elijah stopped in surprise, lifting his hands in supplication, but the mage didn’t pause or acknowledge it. He flattened himself against the wall behind the bed and continued hissing and spitting with vitriol, “What the  _ **_fuck_ ** _ do you want?? You fucking Reavers won’t get anything out of me--!” _

_ Mildly offended, Elijah glanced down at his tunic and fur cloak. He didn’t think he looked like a Reaver. He thought he dressed quite tastefully. _

_ He raised his eyes to the mage’s gaze again and placed a hand over his own heart. From what the young man was saying, he seemed to be under the impression that he’d been kidnapped. “My name is Elijah. I found you not far from here in a clearing, after what appeared to be a magical explosion of some sort. We are barely more than an hour’s walk from Raven Rock. The door to this cabin is unlocked and if you walk out the front and turn to the south, you can find the main road and traverse to town on foot.” _

_ Silence followed as the mage watched him distrustfully. His eyes were slightly unfocused, and Elijah wondered if he had actually comprehended the explanation. _

_ With extremely slow movements, Elijah reached down to the table, picked up the cup of water, and walked across the wooden floorboards, stopping an arms-length from the bed. He held out the cup for the other to take, noting he didn’t raise it to his lips right away. “I brought you back to the cabin I use when I am here for visits. I am from Skyrim and make my living as a tradesman, and come here to fish, forage, and hunt. I mean you no harm and I am not a Reaver.” _

_ The mage’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck do you want?” he repeated harshly. _

_ Elijah blinked, confused. Hadn’t he just made it indelibly clear he wasn’t operating as a kidnapper? He frowned softly. “Nothing.” He raised a hand to scratch at his temple. “Well, I suppose I did drop my traps back there. I wonder if I can still retrieve them or if the tide has taken them out…” He crossed his arms over his chest and sighed. “I promise you that I did not bring you here because I hoped for some kind of leverage or gain. I do not know anyone around here, for one thing. I simply could not leave you unconscious and defenseless in the middle of the hills out here.” He leveled a solemn gaze at the young man across from him. “You could have been seriously hurt.” _

_ The mage snorted, as though that were bitterly amusing to him somehow. _

_ Elijah turned away then, heading for the water he had heating over the low fire he’d built, filling a mug and digging in a pouch on his belt for blue mountain flower petals to make an anti-nausea tea. The relaxing aroma began to fill the air and he brought it back to the bedside, setting it atop a small side table for the mage to reach for if he wanted it. _

_ Elijah opened one hand, palm up, in a gesture of hesitant friendliness. “May I ask your name? _

\- - -

Elliott relaxed his hold on his magicka as he rounded the first hill outside Raven Rock, letting the mote of magelight above his head grow brighter. He had slipped out of the house as soon as he’d seen the thin wisp of smoke rising near the foot of the mountain, using one of the invisibility potions from his secret stash to make sure nobody spotted him. The tension between the Vale family and the rest of the town was currently at a high point. Elliott wasn’t sure which scenario caused him more dread -- being recognized by a drunkard stumbling out of the Retching Netch, or being caught out after dark by his mother...

The urgency of those questions slipped into the distance along with that hateful town as Elliott walked briskly over rocky soil and dry grass. It had been a couple months since Elijah had last come to Solstheim. Spending time with the one person in all of Tamriel whom Elliott could truly call his friend would be very welcome relief from the rest of his life.

Soon, the cabin came into view. Candlelight gleamed in its windows, and as Elliott drew closer, the door swung open, spilling a yellow puddle into the night. A hulking shape appeared, nearly filling the doorframe, silhouetted by flickering warm light. Elliott felt himself smiling. Only years of well-trained decorum kept him from running the last few paces when Elijah held out his arms.

“Hello, Elliott.” Elijah’s voice was as warm as his welcoming embrace. “I am very glad you could come tonight.”

“You’ve been gone far too long.” Elliott allowed himself to lean into his friend’s solid bulk for a few moments before pulling back. He would never admit how much he loved Elijah’s habit of greeting him with a hug, although he had a sneaking suspicion that the tradesman already knew. “Things have gotten so fucked around here, you wouldn’t believe it.”

Even in the low light, Elliott could see a hint of sympathy in Elijahs’ eyes. “Come inside,” he said, stepping back from the doorframe. “We can sit down and talk. Have you eaten?”

A tide of warmth washed over Elliott as he entered Elijah’s cabin. In part, that was from the low fire in the hearth. But there was also something about the room itself -- the fur-covered beds, the old wooden walls, the neat but simple furnishings. It was nice to be surrounded by things besides stone and silver, as cold as they were ostentatious. This space welcomed him in a way nowhere else on this cursed island did.

His gaze fell on the table, laden with smoked fish and fresh apples and -- he felt his mouth fill with water -- a beautiful golden-brown pie with a filling of dark fruit peeking through the lattice.

“I  _ have  _ eaten,” he said ruefully. “Ash yams and dried horker meat. My favorite.”

Elijah’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “You do not sound very pleased.”

Elliott scowled and put a hand over his recently-filled stomach, looking longingly at the much better dinner in front of him. “I would have skipped dinner if I’d known you were coming. The fresh food you bring over from Skyrim is ten times better than anything we get here. Even stuff brought in on the large ships has gone stale by the time it reaches this wretched place.”

Elijah chuckled sympathetically. “If you still have any appetite, you are welcome to the food. I assume you would like some mead?” He let out another low chuckle as Elliott dropped into a chair and reached eagerly for cup Elijah offered. “You seem quite fond of Steamspirit Mead.”

“It’s  _ good. _ ” Elliott took a deep sip, savoring the subtle sweetness and the delicate burn of the alcohol in his throat. “And I’m not just saying that because of all the dubious Dunmer spirits floating around this town. We  _ do  _ get plenty of meads from all over -- at least in my family, through the trading company -- and this is one of the best I’ve ever had.”

Elijah’s smile took on a quality Elliott couldn’t quite place. “I am glad to hear this.” He hesitated a moment, like he was thinking of saying something else, before he changed the subject. “You mentioned things have taken a turn for the worse in Raven Rock. Would you like to talk about it?”

Elliott sighed and took another sip of mead. “My family made another grab at the ebony mine. Last week.”

A slight crease of concern appeared between Elijah’s brows. “I hope no one was hurt?”

“Thankfully not. But somebody  _ could’ve  _ been.” Elliott squeezed his cup until the grain of the wood bit into his palm. “They staged another cave-in. Magical, of course, and not even when the mine was closed this time. They’re so fucking  _ stupid,  _ they honestly think they can get the townspeople to believe that the mine is unsafe and that the East Empire Trading Company would do a better job of managing it. But Raven Rock sees right through us. They know why we’re here. They’re not too blind to spot a greedy company itching to snatch away the only thing anchoring their miserable settlement to civilization.”

Elijah’s frown deepened as he cut into a chunk of smoked fish. “Are  _ you _ in any danger from all this?”

The smell struck Elliott like an arc of lightning -- the wild salty scent of sea, laced with a delicate hint of wood smoke. He put a hand over his belly again, trying to remind himself that the slight firmness he could feel there was a filling -- if not delicious -- meal. He certainly did not need a second dinner.

“Elliott?” Elijah prompted gently. His expression had grown soft -- he seemed to have taken Elliott’s pause as a confirmation that things were seriously wrong.

Elliott blinked, struggling to refocus. “I mean, there are plenty of townsfolk who would love to see the blood of any old Vale on their blade. Um….” He glanced down at the table, resolve crumbling away. “Maybe I’ll take you up on your offer of food. Just a taste.”

“Of course.” Elijah slid the plate of fish and the basket of apples towards him. “Please take as much as you want. I have more than enough.”

Elliott took an apple first, savoring the crunch under his teeth and the tart juice that ran over his tongue. “Divines, this is so  _ good.” _

“I am sorry to hear that things are difficult right now,” said Elijah in that calm, soft way of his. “I hope you are taking precautions for your safety until things blow over.”

Elliott sighed. “I’m not too worried about the townsfolk. You’d have to be pretty inebriated to try to attack a mage, and my combat magic is at least good enough to handle a drunk. It’s more that the increased pressure the company is putting on my family means my mother is once again determined to have me  _ helping _ with their schemes.” He drained the rest of his cup and reached for the bottle, scowling. “To be honest, I don’t know how long I’ll be able to defy her without things becoming…  _ confrontational.” _

Elliott saw the expression on Elijah’s face shift to one of outright concern and slight horror. Realizing he wasn’t drunk enough to discuss the intricacies of _ that  _ particular relationship, he backpedaled quickly: “It’s fine. I still have -- ugh, I hate to talk like this, but I still have some leverage  _ within  _ my family that should keep her off my back for a little bit. And I’ve been thinking about Winterhold again. I’m still not sure I could make it, but…” He frowned. “It’s still an option of last resort.”

There was a long but not uncomfortable pause, broken only the soft hissing and popping of the fire. Elijah seemed to be choosing his words carefully.

“I have a job offer for you,” he said finally.

Elliott nearly choked on a bite of apple. “A… a what?”

Elijah pointed to the bottle sitting on the table. “The Steamspirit Meadery is owned by the family of a good friend of mine. They are seeking to hire a mage -- specifically, one who is trained in both spellwork and alchemy, as I believe you are?”

Elliott nodded, speechless.

“I cannot tell you the exact nature of the position,” Elijah continued. “The family was not willing to share that information beforehand. But I can tell you they are trustworthy people and would be fair employers. If you wish to accept the position, I would take you back to Spirit’s Cross with me on my return journey.”

A question tried to tear free from Elliott lips, but it died in his throat, emerging as a hoarse squeak.

“I understand if you need some time to think it over,” said Elijah. “I am not expecting an answer right this moment, of course.”

“I just… I don’t….” Elliott paused a moment, trying to wrap his head around his words. “They want  _ me? _ Skyrim must be lousy with mages. Why do they want  _ me?” _

“Oh.” Elijah lips quirked upwards. “I speak of you often and my friend approached me and indicated from our previous conversations that you seem a good fit for the job,” he said. “Please do not feel any pressure to make a decision before you--”

“When are we leaving?” Elliott glanced around wildly, half-expecting to see Elijah’s pack waiting by the door. He wished he’d worn something warmer. His robes had been sewn by some fancy clothier back in Cyrodiil, but they were as stupid and pretentious as everything else his family spent their money on, and would not keep him very warm on the chilly Sea of Ghosts.

It was Elijah’s turn to look taken aback. When he laughed, it was a freer and richer laugh than Elliott had ever heard from him. “Not tonight! I just got here!”

“When, then?” Plans flashed through Elliott’s mind. Did he have one day? Two? How much could he sneak away from the family home without being noticed? “When should I come back? I don’t want to miss you.”

“I will not leave without you,” Elijah assured him, looking amused. “If you are certain you wish to come with me.”

“Don’t be stupid. I’ve been trying to get off this horrible rock since the day you met me.” Elliott felt almost dizzy. “Skyrim...! I could live in Skyrim. See these snow-capped peaks and waterfalls you’ve told me about?” He gestured to the table. “Eat food like this every day?”

Elijah nodded, eyes twinkling, and Elliott tipped his head back and laughed.

\- - -

_ “May I ask your name?” _

_ Elliott squinted up at the man towering over him, trying to read his expression. Not easy, with the room spinning as badly as it was. _

_ “Yeah, sure,” he snapped. “So you can figure out which family to send your buddies rushing back to for a ransom. I’m not an idiot.” _

_ The man -- Elijah, or so he’d said -- made a soft sound of dismay. “I have already told you. I am not a kidnapper.” _

_ Fat chance. The Vale family had enemies in three different provinces and was known throughout the town of Raven Rock for being both wealthy and despicable. Some part of Elliott had always feared that his last name would get him killed. Even if this man wasn’t a kidnapper by trade, there was no way he wouldn’t be expecting  _ something  _ for the trouble of assisting an unconscious mage in fine clothes. Gold, perhaps. Elliott could only hope he would not get violently angry when he discovered Elliott had as much control over his family’s coffers as the skeevers in the basement did. _

_ Before he could open his mouth to retort, Elijah continued: “A kidnapper would not leave you, a mage, with full use of your hands. A kidnapper would not give you a clear path to an unlocked door.” As if to prove his point, he walked over to the door of the cabin and opened it. A brisk breeze swirled in, causing the candles to flicker. Elijah closed it again, careful to show that his hands went nowhere near the lock. “Please believe me. I mean you no harm.” _

_ That gave Elliott pause. It made sense, somewhere in the aching, echoing depths of his brain. _

_ With very slow movements, Elijah pulled over a chair and sat down. “Do you remember what happened before you lost consciousness? You do not appear injured to me, but I lack the magical training to know what your spell may have done. If you require magical healing, we may need to transport you back to town.” _

_ Spell…. Elliott rubbed a hand over his eyes. “Fuck…” _

_ Elijah made a soft sound of concern. “Are you in danger?” _

_ “No…” As the recent past seeped back to the surface of Elliott’s mind, the physical sensations that recent past had saddled him with came into sharper focus. He pinched the bridge of his nose, trying to quell the pounding sensation growing behind his eyes. “Fuck. I need to stop casting drunk. I need to stop--” He broke off with a choked retch as his insides suddenly squeezed. _

_ “Here.” Something was pushed gently into Elliott’s hands. He opened one eye to see that it was a wooden basin. _

_ “I’m not going to--” Another violent spasm inside him forced him to hunch over the basin, coughing miserably. He threw up a small amount of liquid and nothing more. It had -- thankfully, for the moment -- been awhile since he’d eaten. _

_ As his stomach settled, he felt the basin being tugged away from him and a cup of warm, sweet-smelling liquid being offered in its place. “Perhaps this will help.” _

_ It was tea, made with blue mountain flowers. Elliott knew it  _ would _ help, and he realized very suddenly that his rescuer must have smelled alcohol on him, foreseen that he might be nauseous, and prepared the tea ahead of time. The thought made him abruptly furious with himself. _

_ “You want to know who I am?” he said in a sudden rush of reckless bitterness. “I’m Elliott Vale, formerly of Cyrodiil, but of Raven Rock for the past five cursed years. My entire family is wrapped up deep in the East Empire Trading Company and we’ve been sent here to cheat the locals out of their livelihood. I want nothing to do with it, but that means as little to my family as it does to the townspeople. So I plan to run away and join the Mage’s College in Winterhold -- but you’ve got to pass a test of merit to be admitted there, and I’m not fucking good enough. How you found me -- that spell -- that’s usually how that ends. Only the unconsciousness was new, because I’m a fucking idiot and I cast while I was drunk.” He scowled. “Somehow I don’t think causing a cute little explosion and then passing out will impress the College mages.” _

_ There was a short pause, then Elijah sighed a little. “I am not certain what the requirements for entering the College in Winterhold are, necessarily, but I would be surprised if you were not at least considered for your potential.”  _

_ Elliott blinked. He wasn’t quite sure what he’d been expecting as a response, but it hadn’t been  _ that.

_ Elijah lifted a hand, gesturing back over his shoulder. “I was clear down at the coast. A wave of light spilled over half this side of the mountain -- the air shook -- it terrified me.” He dropped his hand, looking at Elliott seriously. “The ground was black and scorched around you in all directions, as broad as a Giant’s camp. I would not have called it a ‘cute little explosion.’ I have never seen a spell like that before.” _

_ “As broad as a….” Usually, the ground around Elliott’s failed spells was scorched no more than five feet in any direction. “...Really?” _

_ Elijah nodded. “Whether your intent with the spell was successful or not -- you have power. And isn’t the College meant to be a place to  _ train _ power? They would be fools to turn you away.” He paused again, something like concerned amusement flitting across his expression. “Although… I do agree it is probably not wise to cast while drunk. I’m fairly certain the only thing it is better to do while drunk is sing.” _

_ “Oh, fuck that. I do  _ not  _ want to be a bard.” Elliott paused to take a sip of tea. It settled warmly inside him, easing away the remaining discomfort in his belly. He glanced up to see Elijah smiling at him. _

_ “Elijah,” he said, leaning back into a more comfortable position on the bed. “That’s your name, right? Where is it you said you come from?” _

\- - -

“Ughhh….” Elliott could not bite back a groan as Elijah helped him sit on the edge of the spare bed. He pressed one hand against the side of his immensely heavy stomach, trying to stop it from sloshing.

Elijah’s hand was at his back, and once he seemed sure Elliott was settled, he sat next to him with a sympathetic chuckle. “While I completely understand the desire to celebrate something exciting with food and drink, I hope you haven’t made yourself  _ too _ uncomfortable.”

Elliott grunted noncommittally. “That fucking pie was just too good….”

Elijah gave another soft laugh and wound an arm around Elliott in a supportive embrace, meant to help him relax. But then, oddly, he lifted his other hand towards Elliott’s belly, his fingers hovering just above the swell. “May I touch?”

“Uh… sure.” Elliott squirmed a little as Elijah’s warm, gentle hand made contact with the sensitive curve of his stomach. “What are you… mmm… doing?”

Elijah massaged helpfully against the tight places in Elliott’s sides, relaxing them, then stroked comfortingly over where he’d pressed down with his broad palm, coaxing relief into the heavy feeling. “I find this tends to help after a big meal. I’ve done it for friends before, usually Micah.”

“Feels good….” Elliott sighed, letting himself sag into Elijah’s embrace. “You know, I haven’t eaten so much in… in a really long time….” He groaned softly as Elijah’s thumb moved in a gentle circle around the tight swell under his ribs. “Mmm. It feels nice.”

“I’m glad. I’m glad it does.” There was a smile in Elijah’s voice, and something else… something not quite  _ sad _ , but… 

Elijah rested his cheek affectionately atop Elliott’s head and sighed quietly. A comfortable silence stretched on as he continued rubbing Elliott’s swollen stomach and the fire in the hearth crackled cozily, and Elliott’s eyelids grew heavier.

He blinked when he felt himself being tucked in, raising his head a little, and realized groggily that Elijah had laid him down and draped a fur blanket over him. His friend noticed his open eyes just as he was reaching for the candle, and stopped, smiled, kneeling by the bed.

“I’ll need to spend a few days gathering before we make the return trip.” Elijah whispered softly, blinking in the low light. “As I said earlier, I promise I will not leave without you. If you return here before I am ready to go, you are welcome to stay here at the cabin until then. If I finish gathering and have not heard from you, I will wait, and make smoke signals in the evenings so that you know to come as soon as you can slip away.” 

“Okay,” Elliott murmured sleepily. “M’gonna come back here soon as I can….”

Elijah rose to his feet, reaching out as he stood to touch Elliott’s shoulder warmly, then he snuffed the nearest candle and moved away towards the fire to build it up for the night, before going to his own bed. His breathing settled into the deep rhythm of sleep within moments.

Sleep came a little slower for Elliott. He could feel the fullness in his stomach pulsing softly with his heartbeat, so incredibly heavy but very relaxed from Elijah’s gentle massaging. It was an overwhelming, satisfying, comfortable sensation that dragged him down towards a deep sleep. Only the swirling of his thoughts kept his mind buoyed to the surface of consciousness until they too were soothed into stillness, one by one, by the low crackle of the fire and the steady sound of Elijah’s breathing.

\- - -

It was raining lightly the morning they left. Elijah was kneeling next to Elliott, in a shallow dip in the center of the boat with a small wooden roof angled over it. He was tucking multiple blankets around him, bundling his shoulders against the cold, and when he seemed satisfied that Elliott wouldn’t so much as shiver during the trip, handed him a canteen of fresh water.

“You’d think I’m a crystal goblet being packed for shipment,” Elliott remarked. Elijah only chuckled and tucked the blankets even more securely.

Elliott watched his friend haul up the anchor and then slide off the side of the boat into the knee-deep water to push against the hull until the boat’s underside stopped skidding along the sandy bottom. “How long is this trip going to take?”

“Three to four days if the weather is mild, sometimes up to a week if it storms.” Elijah gripped the side of the boat and pulled himself up again with a heavy grunt of effort. “Just because it is raining here at shore does not mean it will storm out at sea, though.” He sat down to take off his boots and empty them of seawater before putting them back on. Then he got up and began tugging lines and unfurling the sail. The wind caught it and they were gliding, bobbing over the waves.

Slowly, the shoreline receded until Elliott could see the whole of Solstheim, a spiky hulk of rock surrounded by slate-gray waves. The island lost its definition as they sailed on -- the lines of the mountainside blurring, the buildings of Raven Rock smearing into a distant smudge -- until the whole place was nothing but a brownish stain on the horizon.

Elliott wondered idly whether anyone had noticed he was missing yet. He had not said a word to his family, hadn’t left a note. Probably no one would realize he was truly gone until they checked his bedroom and found the closet bare…

He cleared his throat and looked away, over to where Elijah was adjusting the sail. The tradesman tied a rope down and stepped over their packs -- Elijah’s neat and compact, Elliott’s bulging with as many random possessions as he’d been able to remove from the house without attracting attention -- and crouched next to Elliott again, clasping his shoulder warmly. “My friends are eager to meet you, so I am going to plan to bring us into town during the night, when they are all asleep.” Elijah’s eyes crinkled in amusement. “That will give us some time to get indoors, unload our things, and get some rest before greeting them. I have a spare bedroom in my house; if you’d like to stay there long-term, you are welcome to it. But I am sure it will suffice for your first night in Spirit’s Cross, at least.”

“Sounds good,” said Elliott, with no small amount of relief. He had a feeling rest would be very welcome after such a long journey. 

The wind picked up as they sailed, growing bitterly cold until Elliott could see Elijah raising a hand periodically to pull down his scarf and scrape ice crystals from his beard around his mouth and nose. Elijah was at the tiller at the front nearly constantly, steering the small craft to face swells and waves head-on, rather than risk getting overturned. When the wind and water calmed, he would take breaks to rest or eat, always making sure Elliott had food and water in easy reach. At night, the tradesman was pleased when the stars were out, using them to navigate once the sun was down. He sighed a bit in complaint when the clouds were covering them.

Two days in, and slowly the rocking and swaying of the boat started getting to Elliott. As the sun set that night, he squirmed on his bedroll, trying to find a position that didn’t aggravate the spinning of his head and the mild queasiness in his belly.

Even in the dark, Elijah seemed to notice quickly that Elliott wasn’t sleeping well. He fastened one of the ship’s lines, locked the tiller in place, and came back to where Elliott was stretched out under the boat’s shelter, a sympathetic smile in his eyes. He tugged his scarf away from his mouth with one gloved finger and leaned down, propping onto one elbow and resting his other hand softly on Elliott’s shoulder. “Seasick?”

Elliott grunted. “Little bit.”

“Mmm. I’m sorry. Sometimes it’s unavoidable.” Elijah’s eyes closed and he seemed to concentrate very intensely. Something golden glowed to life, swirled through the small space between them, causing strands of Elijah’s frozen hair to dance, and Elliott’s curls to ruffle. The warmth of the healing spell seeped into him and quelled the nausea, eased the slight churning in his belly. His fingers and toes felt a bit less stiff.

“What the fuck was that?” Elliott wondered, grateful nonetheless. “I thought you were afraid of magic!”

Elijah opened his eyes again and they reflected back the fading light of the spell. “I am. But I asked Micah to teach me something for healing a long time ago. I am often alone during my travels, for one thing, and need to be able to depend on my own skills. And if someone I was close to were desperate need of care, I would want to be able to do something to help.” His gaze fell slightly and he gave a soft sigh. “In some ways, magic does make me uncomfortable, but I fear the thought of being helpless to aid someone I love even more.”

Something caught in Elliott’s throat. He swallowed, trying to force it down, but the thoughts were too close to the surface.

_ Helpless to aid someone I love. _

What if all mages thought like that? What if the trained and talented did not put their efforts into collapsing mine roofs at the bidding of heartless companies, but used their magic to aid the ones they loved? Would things have been different?  _ Someone he loves.  _ Elliott couldn’t remember the last time someone had used a healing spell on him. Maybe no one ever had.

Things would be different  _ now. _

Beside him, Elijah made a soft, surprised sound of concern. Elliott supposed the water that had gathered at the corners of his eyes must be gleaming in the moonlight.

“Are you alright?” Elijah asked quietly. “You’re not having second thoughts?”

“No, no.” Elliott cleared his throat. “Fuck no. It’s just...” He let out a short, sharp breath. “It’s just a lot. You know what I mean?”

“Mmm.” The concern on Elijah’s face gave way to relieved understanding. “Yes.”

Elliott scrubbed a hand over his eyes and nestled back down into his bedroll. “That… that was a good healing spell you did. Thanks. I’m going to try to sleep again.”

Elijah patted Elliott’s shoulder, getting up and ducking out of the shelter. Elliott heard him take the front of the ship again, turning the tiller, and the boat bobbed a little over the next wave. This time, instead of making his stomach stir uneasily, it seemed to rock Elliott right to sleep.

The shore that Elijah said was Skyrim came into view on the far horizon late morning of the third day. Elijah explained they would reach the mouth of the White River by sundown, where they would transfer his goods and their packs to a rowboat to head upriver. Elliott felt his nerves building as the land mass grew and he could see the peaks of snowy mountains in the distance. In a good way though; a hopeful way.

The tail end of a blizzard was beating the surrounding hills when they reached the dock, and Elijah bundled them both down to wait it out; thankfully, it tapered off within the hour. They dug themselves out of the snow and dusted ice off their packs and moved everything over to the rowboat to make their way towards town. Once they were even a little further south, the biting cold began to calm and the snow capped hills gave way to greenery, flowers, and sandy banks.

The sun set. Still, Elijah rowed on. Elliott watched the dark shore slide past, trying not to think about what kinds of sharp-toothed creatures might lurk in those mountains. Once or twice, he heard the haunting howls of wolves echo through the valley.

Finally, their little boat bumped against a small wooden dock. Elijah jumped out and tied the boat fast, and Elliott passed him their packs.

“So this is Spirit’s Cross?” Elliott asked as he climbed out onto the dock. There wasn’t much to look at in the darkness, but Elliott could see faint pinpricks of candlelight glowing invitingly in the windows of the low wooden buildings strung along the riverbank.

“Yes.” Elijah turned to look at him, and in the faint moonlight, Elliott could see him smiling. “Welcome home.”


End file.
